Taming of the Omega
by Harpoxy
Summary: The Holmes's and the Watson's agree to an arranged marriage between Sherlock and John in an effort to mend the rift between the families. But how do you get an Alpha and an Omega who have no desire for love to mate? Passion, betrayal, and murder take root in a story about what happens when two clans who hate each other become bound for all eternity.
1. Mending The Rift

John has finally done it.

After the long and arduous task of trying to hold himself together, John Hamish Watson has finally managed to hit rock bottom. He'd tried so hard to hold on to the tiny sliver of hope that perseveres in the minds of independent Omegas everywhere, but it was obvious, as evidenced by the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his throbbing temple, that he failed miserably. What was once his weapon against a society that threatened the freedom of every living Omega on the planet has now become the key ingredient in his soon-to-be demise.

The funny thing, though? None of this would be presently happening if it wasn't for the jackass on bended knee beside him. Once upon a time, John could have taken one glimpse at those dark locks and piercing blue eyes and retched in disgust, but now? As much as every part of his mind wanted to hate him, all John could feel when he looked at the bastard was love. It filled him with unwanted admiration and idolatry, the unmistakable scent of his Alpha making the inner Omega within him purr in contentment . . . asshole.

At this point in time, you as the reader are probably inquiring as to just how in the hell Mr. Watson go to this point, but you need not fear. Everything will be explained with as much gusto as a narrator can manage when recounting a tale of this magnitude. A story of passion, betrayal, and cold-blooded murder awaits your eager eyes, so this story shall now begin with what one hopes is an interesting scene to bear witness to, involving an eve of darkest night that sets into motion the harrowing journey of one John Watson, and the arranged marriage that would either be his salvation . . . or his downfall.

_*Laughs maniacally*. . . ahem, sorry._

* * *

><p>"Put something on that, quick!"<p>

In the corner of the room, far away from the prying eyes of its occupants, a burly gentleman of forty-seven and a half stepped in view to gaze confusedly at the panicking old man before him. "What?" he asked, accent heavy with disdain._  
><em>

"Cold compresses!" the other man admonished, outstretched fingers pointing to the sky. "An ice bag, a slab of meat. Something!"

Kneeling at the feet of a damsel in distress, he placed his hands on her thighs in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, concern and unmovable devotion shining through his eyes. "Are you quite alright, my darling Agatha?"

Agatha Holmes clutched her cheek with care, breathing deeply as she ran the digits of her other hand through what was left of the old man's white hair. "There's really no need to fret, Barnabas. I'm just . . . sore." Agatha, being the overly dramatic woman that she was, then made a show of putting both of her palms against her face in feigned sorrow, sighing forlornly. "Oh, so sore."

"Oh, my darling," Barnabas wept, kissing her knees. "My poor, sweet Agatha."

As Mr. Holmes comforted his wife, the burly man from earlier was about to voice his displeasure with the couple when someone from behind him said, "Oh, for God's sake. Can we cut the dramatics and focus on the matter at hand, please? I'm missing my bridge game!"

Turning around, the man-who's name was Irving-nodded emphatically. "Yes, Mr. Watson. We shall continue with the proceedings." Casting one more disapproving glance at the elderly, Irving addressed Ichabod Watson with intent. "I assume both parties have finally agreed to contractual terms?"

"Negative," Ichabod replied. "The Holmes's still haven't provided an amount regarding the Omega token we'll be receiving as payment for the loss of our son."

"And just how much do you think he's worth?" Barnabas asked loudly, craning his head to better watch the Watson's.

"Fifty thousand pounds."

"FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS?!" the Holmes's shouted.

"Oh, it's not that unreasonable, dears," Olivia Watson chimed in quietly. "Why, it's much cheaper than the amount that was paid for me-"

"Do shut up, Olivia," Ichabod spat. Whipping his head to Irving, he said, "Fifty thousand and not a pound more!"

The room fell silent as the stench of greed filled the air. Across the street, the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata could be heard through the open window, ivory keys darkening the atmosphere with their woeful lamentations. With wind rustling the pale orange leaves of trees made bare by fall, the issue that determined to be taken care of was given nature's soundtrack so that it may know of autumn's understanding and willful participation in giving voice to the urgency of resolution.

Heeding their call, Barnabas sighed, and, after exchanging knowing glances with his wife, acquiesced. "We accept."

"Right," Irving stated. "Now that we finally have this settled after years of discussion, I'm happy to inform you all that we can now cease negotiations regarding the Omega known as John Watson. I shall draw up the papers at once for both parties involved to sign, and then we can marry the two kids off. Now, uh . . . if there's nothing else-"

From the back of the study where everyone was gathered, a man stood with his legs and arms crossed as he leaned against his father's desk. His dark hair and even darker expression immediately put the lawyer in the very awkward position of shuffling nervously in front of his general audience while being interrupted with, "Do you people honestly think this marriage is going to change a thing?"

Everyone in the room tensed at the sound of such a smooth and reptilian voice. With great reluctance, they all acknowledged the threatening presence of such an intimidating character as one would a snake: with caution.

"_Mycroft_," Barnabas gasped softly. "I didn't even realize you were here."

"Tell me," Mycroft said, walking slowly toward the people basking in the glow of chandelier bulbs, "what exactly is it that you people expect to get from marrying him off to some worthless Omega who won't last more than a week in my brother's presence without wanting to kill himself, hmm? Do you think that by ensuring the bond between these two particular kids that you can somehow mend the rift between our families? Do you truly believe you can attempt to right such wrongs without consequences?"

Ichabod swallowed. It was no surprise to anyone that Mr. Holmes's oldest son was the only person in the world Mr. Watson feared. "Uh . . . well, yes. Look, Mycroft, I know you love your brother, but-"

"My love," he interrupted, placing an emphasis on "love" as if he loathed the very thought of such a concept, "is reserved for myself alone. 'Love' has nothing to do with this. Given that you lot are thoroughly incapable of thought, the burden of rationality seems to have fallen on me now. Logic may escape the minds of goldfish, but it most certainly remains a prisoner within the metaphorical bars of my own. This contract you've agreed to might as well be a death warrant. My brother will never love the Omega the way an Alpha is supposed to. Given your Omega's penchant for independence, he is more than unlikely to accept this marriage anymore than my brat of a sibling will. All this is going to do is stir up more conflict between the Holmes's and the Watson's, resulting in an all out war. Surely, you must know that."

At the blank faces staring back at him, Mycroft sighed as if he were patiently suffering fools. "Am I the only one around here with a brain? Nevermind. Do what you will, but when this whole thing blows up in your face, don't say I didn't warn you. And if you think you're going to come knocking on my door thinking Mycroft is gonna make everything all better then I strongly suggest you put that notion to bed this very instant. I've never been a shoulder to cry on and I don't intend to start now. Well, then. If you'll excuse me, I have some important matters to attend to."

As Mycroft departed, Barnabas let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. The words of his son hung heavy in his heart. He knew deep down that the man was right, but he also knew that he couldn't just sit by and watch the future he'd struggled to secure for his family crumble to the ground because of a petty feud that's been going on for as long as he could remember. While he understood Mycroft's frustration, he felt as if he had no choice but to try the one thing that would enable his lineage to continue unscathed by the Watson's. Knowing that Olivia and Ichabod felt the same gave him peace and strengthened his resolve. No matter what his children said, he would secure the marriage of his son and John Watson, and if it lead to bloodshed, then at least he could say he'd tried everything. Still, only one question remained . . .

How do you get an Alpha and an Omega who don't want love to mate?

As the reader can probably guess, good old Barnabas Holmes was about to find out.


	2. Just A Dinner

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out . . . _

_This isn't working. _

_Damn._

The shaky legs that barely managed to hold up the body of John Watson finally gave way beneath him, causing him to fall to the floor in one semi-big pile of limbs as he tried to contain the panic attack destroying whatever remained of his self-control.

_Marriage. An **arranged** marriage. Bloody hell!_

* * *

><p>*<em>Narratorus interruptus<em>* Ahem . . . before one can explain John's freak out over his impending marriage, one must first go back to the day he was born. As some of you may have deduced from the previous chapter, talk of such an event has been whispered in the ears of every single member of both families since John and his betrothed-_who shall remain nameless_ _until the proper time for dramatic effect_-were brought into this godforsaken world. Through the gossip trickled down over the years, John, of course, learned that he was bound to be married. As one might imagine, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea.

The discussion of a mating between an Alpha and Omega must obviously prompt a few quizzical stares, and so we shall now delve into the differences surrounding the Alphas, Omegas, and Betas. Yes, we must never leave out the Betas, for it was one Beta in particular that served as a referee for a different coupling that the reader will certainly see at a later time, one which John will be very much involved in-

Wait, what? Of course he'll be involved in someone else's love life. He'll have a hand up every couple's skirt that features in this story. He's the main character, for God's sake. He's everywhere! Now, if you are quite done interrupting the narrator, we can now continue with the explanations . . .

Huh? Oh, fine. We'll just leave it up to the story to do that for the you. You people certainly know how to make a narrator feel special, don't you? Cretins.

* * *

><p>"John! Goddammit, John! Open the door right this instant!"<p>

"Oh, dear."

"Well, Mycroft told us he'd react this way, didn't he?"

"Do shut up, Irving!"

_So many voices. Too many voices. Not enough oxygen. Yelling. Jesus, why are they yelling?_

John clutched his stomach and breathed deeply.

_Marriage._ Just the word alone was enough to send him into paroxysms of terror. That word meant the end for Omegas everywhere. Being married to an Alpha meant being mated and being mated meant becoming a house Omega. A house Omega, for fuck sake! Could you imagine? Poor little John, standing in front of the kitchen stove with a belly full of pups baking pies while his big, strong Alpha got to go out into the real world and live the life he'd always dreamed of. It was barbaric! It was unfair! It was _boring_. But how does an Omega say no to an arranged marriage that not even an Alpha could break free from? The answer was simple . . . they couldn't.

It was official: John was fucked.

"I'm gonna count to three, John, and if you don't open this door right now, I swear I'm gonna-"

John got up off his ass and turned the knob without even thinking, shoving his panic so far deep down inside of himself, he would have been surprised if it popped up again before next Tuesday. "Yes?"

Everyone stood in silence until Ichabod broke the ice. "And just what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I was trying to take a shower."

"Are you alright, Dear?" Olivia inquired dreamily. "You just stormed off when we brought up the marriage. One might have thought you'd disapproved."

"Disapproved?" John repeated stupidly. "Oh, no. Quite the opposite, actually, yeah. As long as he's a rich Alpha with a big knot, that's about all an Omega can hope for, wouldn't you say, father?"

The fake smile, the raised eyebrows, the carefree attitude . . . it was all supposed to be mocking, and some part of Ichabod must have realized that when his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked at his rebellious son, pissed as all hell that he couldn't figure him out anymore than the rest of them could. "I don't know what you're gettin' at, boy, but you will be the one to make this work. The families are on the brink of war. Your marriage could be the key to saving us from certain destruction. I don't give a rat's ass about the Holmes' but they're too much of a threat to ignore. Now, I've invited them all over for dinner, including Barnabas's youngest son, so you'd better make yourself presentable before 9:00 this evening and if you even think about disobeying me, I will fucking destroy you. Have I made myself clear?"

John responded by shutting the door in his face, his laughter muffled by the sound of running water.

* * *

><p>Barnabas was distraught. No, more than that. He was livid.<p>

His conversation with Mr. Watson about John was quite . . . disturbing, to say the least. The boy's reaction to the marriage was an odd one, and there was something about the way his emotions hit extremes that made the old man question how he was going to react when meeting his son for the first time. He knew that, despite John's seemingly careless attitude toward his impending marriage, the way he'd supposedly ran to the bathroom upon first hearing the news of his betrothal gave away his true feelings on the subject, feelings which regretfully weren't ideal for a loving partnership.

Mycroft knew this would happen, but that didn't make it any better hearing the truth from Mr. Watson's lips. He'd hoped that this pairing would not only unite the families, but also help his youngest boy know the joys of true love. However, it was apparent that Barnabas Holmes was cursed with two sons who would never know the meaning of sentiment, nor compassion and kindness. They refused to even entertain the possibility that they could be like everyone else. 'Course they wouldn't. They'd rather die by their own hand than let all those pesky feelings get in the way of their superior intellect. They were machines, nothing more, and it was with a heavy heart that Barnabas finally decided that, regardless of whether or not this marriage successfully put aside everyone's disagreements, there would still be a war. The difference is that it would only be between two people instead of a dozen.

Sighing internally, Barnabas got up from the chair situated in front of his desk and went to his bedroom, smiling when he saw the clothes he would wear for the night laying on his bed, perfectly ironed.

_Oh, my darling Agatha. What a saint you are._

"There's still hope," he heard from behind him. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but maybe we're doing the best thing for everyone and we just don't know it yet. There's no need to worry your pretty little head over it just yet, hon. Everything will be just fine."

Barnabas turned to smile at his beautiful wife, feeling more optimistic by the second. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure it will, dear."

Under his wife's influence, Barnabas began to feel more at ease.

_It's just a dinnner_, he thought to himself. _What could possibly go wrong? _


	3. Did Someone Say Murder?

_Look at them_, John thought disdainfully. _All those power-hungry Alphas huddled together in the cold, circle jerking themselves as they bond over their ultimate superiority over everything on the fucking planet. _

***_This seems like a good opportunity to remind all of you that the views and opinions expressed by John regarding Alphas doesn't necessarily reflect those of the amazingly wonderful narrator._**

"You're doing it again, aren't you?"

John sighed.

_Greg Lestrade. _

"I understand your frustration," Greg said, standing beside his best friend. Following John's eyes, he looked across the street at the group of Alphas giggling like school children at recess, ignoring the way his breath mingled with his companion's in the cold autumn air. "With all the hype society gives them, people like us can't help but wonder what the hell they have that we don't."

Silence, then, "Knots."

Somewhere in the distance, a bird sang a variety of notes in rapid succession, humming its assent. Greg smiled at John, refusing to argue with him. John smiled back, and before they knew it, both men were laughing so loud, the pack of Alphas turned their heads to leer at the happy Omegas, some going so far as to howl in such a manner as to convey their obvious interest in a potential fuck.

_Barbarians._

The chiming of the clock inside the house warned John that the hour of death was upon him, and it was with obvious reluctance that he fought the urge to tear the Alphas apart, instead turning from his friend and heading inside to get ready, trusting that Greg would follow (which he did). Stepping inside, he took a look at his surroundings, shaking his head in defeat.

The Watson house, built in the late 1800's, was a far cry from the 21 bedroom mansion owned by the Holmes family, yet it still invoked awe among people lucky enough to be invited inside. With its spacious living quarters, polished wooden floors, and gourmet appliances, the house that made everyone _ooh_ and _aah_ in wonderment did nothing but suffocate John. Even now, he could feel the dark energy from the place sucking the life out of him, and he couldn't help but think that, should he move into the Holmes,' he'd be in the same position, only that destination would surely kill him for good.

"John," Greg said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

John snapped himself out of his thoughts and looked at Greg. "Yeah. 'Course I am." _No, you're not. You're suffocating. _

"Right . . . okay, then. Well, it's 7:15 now. The Holmes family should be here soon, so you'd better get ready."

"You're staying. You know that right?" John said, looking fondly at the other man.

Greg smiled. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

><p>When two families get together to put aside their differences through a marriage, it is generally preferred that the lovely couple be present for the good of all that are involved . . .<p>

That is not what happened here. **_*Notice the way your storyteller attempted to build up your enthusiasm. Naturally, it worked, for your narrator is a person of amazing brilliance and creativity.*_**

See, instead of . . . all that, one of the pairing ended up late in coming, leaving everyone else, including John (_yes, of course John was there. Did you honestly believe your narrator would introduce his other half right at this instant? His entrance is supposed_ _to be dramatic, goddammit) _wondering just where in the hell he was. With the exception of the ticking brought forth by the grandfather clock, the dinner table was silent as eyes darted from one face to the next, each person trying to figure out the reactions of the other.

John looked at his father with raised eyebrows. "Maybe he's not coming." _Please let it be true._

"Oh, he'll come," Ichabod assured him forcefully, glancing at Barnabas. "Won't he?"

Mr. Holmes swallowed, all eyes turning to him. "Hmm? Oh, y-yes. Yes, of course."

More silence. Then, "Well, I certainly wouldn't blame him for being late. The boy is obviously nervous and is stalling. I remember when I first found Frederick-"

Pontius Watson, father to Olivia Watson, cut her off. "Nobody gives a good goddamn about that boy, Ingrid. He was nothing but trouble."

Ingrid Holmes, sister of Barnabas, scowled. "He most certainly was not."

"The hell he wasn't! He was the one who got Sheryl Watson pregnant, causing an even greater spat between the families. For fuck sake, he was responsible for that girl's abortion that went horribly wrong. If my father wasn't such a gifted medical doctor, her death would have been on his head."

That's a vicious lie!" Ingrid yelled, slamming her hand on the table.

Angry tones started to fill the Watson household. John sat and listened without saying a word, sipping from his wine glass without a care in the world. It wasn't that he didn't care about his family . . . he just didn't care about his family. They could scream and yell all they wanted. In the end, everyone in that room had a hand in the ridiculous marriage that he was being forced into, and as far as he was concerned, they could all rip each other to shreds until the cows came home. The only thing he wanted in return was a promise from the Almighty himself that memories of their existence would never come back to darken his days again.

Before he could stop himself, John suddenly began thinking of all the pain these people had caused him, and everything he remembered only served to fuel the fire he could feel igniting in the pit of his stomach. He thought of his wonderful father, a man who relished the impact his psychological abuse had on John and his mother. He thought of his sister Harry, an alcoholic (not at this table) who despised her blood relatives so much that she left John to suffer them all on his own. He thought of his mother, someone so numb that she didn't seem to care about her son's unhappiness or her own. He thought of the helplessness and despair he felt as a child, living in a world where these wretched people lived and breathed his misery as if it were a turn on for them, making the hand around his glass tighten with suppressed rage. He thought of all these things without shutting them out so that he could feel justified in his hatred and so far, it seemed to be working. Then his gaze fell on the person directly in front of him, and before he knew it, all of that anger he'd used as a shield vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving nothing behind but fear.

Of all the people who have wronged him, none of them stood out in his mind as prominently as Pontius Watson. Hypocrite. Wife beater. Child molester. The one who told an 8-year-old John that it was okay to touch himself as long as uncle Ponty was allowed to watch. A beast. A demon. An _Alpha_.

John could have thanked the man for turning him into the exact opposite of your typical doe-eyed, weakling of an Omega, had he not ruined all chances of John ever being able to trust an Alpha as long as he lived. The thought that there was an Alpha out there somewhere that wanted to love and cherish John escaped him. To him, Alphas were incapable of love and compassion. They never gave. All they did was take, take, take. They ruined other people's lives and didn't have the goddamn common courtesy to feel guilty about it. This wasn't about projection; this was the truth. The only thing Pontius did was show John an Alpha's true colors, the _real_ nature of the wolf inside every last one of them.

Had John believed in telepathy, he would have thought his dear old uncle had read his mind, because it was at that exact moment that the monster turned his eyes, slick as a serpent's, to John's, the corner of his foul lips drifting upwards into a sly smile that the younger man wanted to slap right off his face.

Greg, who was sitting beside John, noticed. "Hey, guys. Why don't we just calm down, eh?"

The fight between the families continued, Greg's plea going unnoticed.

"Why in the hell are we agreeing to this marriage anyhow? There's no possible way this is gonna work."

"It has to, goddammit! It's our only hope of stopping this!"

"Our only hope hasn't even bothered to show up yet. We've got one that's M.I.A. and another one that's sitting here acting as useless as the rest of his kind. What a sorry bunch you're putting your trust in. An Omega bitch who doesn't know his place and an Alpha who can't even be bothered to keep time! That's rich!"

"ENOUGH!"

Stillness tightened its hold on the Watson home, one word echoing off the walls like voices in a cave.

_The fighting stopped. Why did it stop?_ It took John a moment to realize that the call for order had come from him. When his brain caught up with the situation, something inside of him snapped.

"I am getting sick and tired of all this noise," he whispered, looking around the room with what must have been a frightening expression, considering the terror present on everyone's faces."I have been hearing this incoherent babbling since the day I was born. Between the two of you, it's like I have stupid in stereo and my poor ears need a fucking break."

Someone's breath hitched. John didn't notice. Every nerve ending inside of him was lighting up with anger. Danger flashed in his eyes when his father tried to move, making the older man still as a statue. The beats of his own heart vibrated in his chest, pumping toxic fury through his body like poison. Shaking slightly, he continued, "All you people have ever done is cause me pain and, quite frankly, uh, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the fighting, I'm sick of the lies, and I'm sick of the sins we acknowledge quietly but refuse to voice aloud"-John gave Pontius and his parents very pointed looks-"but most importantly? I'm sick of you. _All_ of you. Now, I don't give a shit about the Holmes' _or_ my family so I'm gonna make this perfectly clear for all of you. I . . . am NOT getting married. I would rather die than give any part of me to an Alpha. I like my independence. I like my freedom. I like being able to do whatever I want without the burden of fear or consequence. In short, I like living the life of an Alpha. I'm not a bitch that needs to be bred or a tool you plan to use for your own dastardly agendas. I am an Omega, and as an Omega, someone who bears the gift of creating life, I deserve a little goddamn respect, so _fuck_ you and _fuck_ your problems. Take them to someone else 'cause I don't give a shit! I am done being treated like garbage. There's a new Johnny in town, and guess what? He's someone who's going to stay single and delight in the downfall his relationship status brings you. Get used to fighting, ladies and gentleman, because Johnny boy has left the building!"

This should have been the moment when John left his house and never looked back. Seeing this day from a future point in time, he knew that if he had stormed out the door right then and there, he'd have lived a different life than the one in his current possession. He would have lived with Greg until he was able to find his own place, finish school, and possibly become one of the most brilliant doctors this world has ever known.*****

Instead of doing all that, he somehow opted for looking stupidly at his uncle while a transformation took place that his own eyes couldn't believe even as he stared at the man with lids wide open. Coughing and sputtering, followed by an overthrown chair and a couple shuddering breaths lead John to believe that he was in the process of witnessing a murder. He didn't know how or why, but the thought suddenly occurred to him that his uncle, someone who he hated with an intensity akin to the contempt Satan has for the Lord up above, was poisoned.

"Oh my god," Ingrid screamed. "What in the wo-Pontius? Pontius?!"

"Somebody call an ambulance!" Ichabod shouted.

Murder. There was a murder in the family. John couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the bizarre scene before him. He didn't move. He didn't panic. He didn't scream to the heavens for help. All he did was stand there and-whether or not this made him a bad man, he had no idea-wonder just why in the hell he hadn't thought of doing that to the dumb bastard when he'd had the chance..

"John!" Ichabod snarled. "Don't just stand there like an idiot. He's dead, you moron!"

"Yeah," John mumbled dazedly.

Ichabod blew out a breath. "This can't be happening. I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe this!"

"Can't we get some help?"

"Who in the hell is going to help us with this?!" Ichabod screamed. "Someone in our family has just been murdered!"

As if by some form of dark magic, the front door to the house suddenly burst open, letting in a blast of cold air that blew straight through John, making him shiver. All eyes turned to the two men blocking the outside from view. Somehow, the taller of the two captured John's attention in a way that nobody else ever would, staring at the dead body of his uncle with icy blue eyes that would forever be branded in John's very soul.

"Did someone say murder?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>*Narrator would like to point out that, had John done any of those things, he would be known as Suckey McSuckerton because, as some of you probably have already deduced, his life would suck.*<strong>_


	4. Almonds

There are instances in an Omega's life when they are completely at the mercy of an Alpha. Certain times include:

1. When they're in heat (a condition that makes them incapable of logical thought).

2. When they're being forced.

3. When they've found their mate (it is important to note that this process includes a certain pheromone that's given off by both the Alpha and the Omega, signifying to both parties that they're meant for each other).

Of the three possibilities mentioned here, only two of them have ever been experienced by Mr. John Watson. Was he bitter about them? Absolutely. However, he'd learned early on that acceptance of the inevitable makes life much more bearable for everyone, and it was this undeniable truth that made ridiculous things like heats and knowing your martial arts so you don't get raped by an Alpha nothing more than basic life lessons necessary for surviving what he called the "Omega Ordeal." Unfortunately for John, the moment he suddenly found himself in had him facing a second undeniable truth, one which he was NOT ready to accept . . .

John had finally found his Alpha.

The man in question, standing in the doorway with the kind of posture a statue would envy, seemed completely unaware of the aroma he unconsciously emitted into the atmosphere. His attention was instead riveted on the dead body in front of him, pupils expanding mercilessly to the gruesome sight. John used the Alpha's obliviousness of his Omega to study his physical appearance, trying very hard to hide his displeasure at being ignored.

To say that his Alpha was attractive wouldn't be too far a stretch, though the term "unconventionally handsome" might be a better way of describing what John considered rather odd features. The man's eyes, the first to catch John's own, bore irises of an icy blue hue peppered with flecks of green and gold, each color surrounding a sphere of black that both enlarged as he looked at Pontius, and deflated when he looked away. The shape of them slanted in a way that reminded the Omega of an alien, picture made clearer by the prominent cheekbones protruding and tilting in perfect harmony just below them. His raven locks fell in wavy strands across his scalp, twitching only slightly from the cool October breeze (John couldn't help but wonder if the Alpha's hair was as immovable as he obviously was). A knotted blue scarf covered most of his neck, and the long, black coat he wore made John believe his clothes were cloaking his skin just as the Alpha appeared to cloak his emotions, assuming he had any to begin with, that is. All in all, the man was rather intimidating (not to John, of course), and the way he demanded attention and respect without having to voice it infuriated John more than anything Pontius could have ever done. _Damn Alphas and their God complexes. _

"_Sherlock_," Barnabas whispered, stunned.

The men in the doorway shared a look, followed by a chuckle from the elder. "I knew something like this would happen, though I must say, they all far superceded my expectations by introducing a murder to our little circus."

John felt an involuntary shiver climb up his spine when the younger Alpha's gaze met his, eyes narrowing in a slightly predatory fashion. "Indeed."

The man beside _Sherlock _followed his lead and glanced at John with a smug expression, lips forming a smirk different from that of Pontius Watson, less unpleasant but far more obscene. Whereas Pontius looked at John like he wanted to devour him alive, this person looked at him the way any Alpha looks at an Omega: like the person before him was inferior. The rage John could feel building when Sherlock walked through the door morphed into defiance as he took a competitive stance. The other man noticed the change and his smirk grew, making John feel as though he were looking into the depths of his very soul.

_Bastard._

"Boys!" Agatha exclaimed, shock slowly fading enough to where she could speak. "I smell cigarette smoke! Were you two being naughty again?"

John wanted to laugh at the terrified expressions that came over the men's faces, but the insinuation that they were both brothers was more than a little alarming.

"It was Mycroft," Sherlock said suddenly. The look of betrayal and the promise of revenge in his sibling's eyes had Sherlock smiling briefly before turning his attention back to the body of Pontius Watson lying beside his upturned chair, watching him in a way that a scientist might look at something under a microscope. Taking a quick inventory of the room, Sherlock made his way over to the "crime scene" with an ease not normally known to people who observed such macabre images of death, bending down and retrieving a magnifying glass out of his pocket to better see what the naked eye could not.

"He's not a detective," John said bitterly. "What the hell is he doing?"

"Might as well be," Agatha replied. "My boys are extremely gifted, you see. They can see things that others cannot. Oh, you just wait until you get to know him, my dear John. He'll shock and entertain you in ways no other Alpha will ever be able to."

John turned his attention back to Sherlock, folding his arms over his chest. "Can't wait," he mumbled sarcastically.

As he watched the Alpha across the room, he noticed that his body had become tense without warning, and it was all he could do not to gasp in surprise when Sherlock's head tilted slightly to the left, matching John's terrified expression with one of his own as he looked at him over his shoulder. The stunned Omega could read the curiosity in the man's eyes, but it was nowhere near as dangerous as the one just behind the intrigue, taunting him with words that clearly screamed _challenge accepted_ into his bleeding ears until it was all he could hear. He could feel a connection buried deep beneath the surface between him and his Alpha, binding them together in a tangled web of biological inevitability that sparked both his excitement and his anger. After all, being forced into a marriage was one thing, but experiencing an actual bond? John would die before he allowed that to happen. One way or another, he _was_ going to find a way out of this marriage. He'd make sure of that.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said softly.

"Yes?"

"The body."

With the trance between them broken by fatality, Sherlock went back to examining the body, much to John's relief. The Omega watched with morbid fascination while his Alpha picked up the cup Pontius drank from and sniffed its contents, glancing back and forth between the tea and the cookies laid out beside the dead man's plate of Salmon. A wide smile graced the Alpha's features.

"Of course," he said. "_Almonds_."

Everyone in the room stared at him like was crazy.

"Ah, yes," Mycroft murmured. "Cyanide."

"I beg your pardon?" John asked.

Mycroft looked at John. "Whoever killed him provided almond cookies to mask the almond taste of the cyanide in his tea, my dear John."

John tried to hide his panic. "But that's impossible. I made those cookies, and I can assure you, I'm not the one that killed the guy."

Sherlock stood up, ignoring the Omega. "You're Olivia Watson," he said, fixing his icy blue eyes on John's mother. You're related to this man, judging by the resemblance. Most likely your brother, considering how close you two are in age. The flour still present underneath your fingernails suggests that you were the one who, in fact, made those cookies and that your son is obviously trying to cover for you. The look of disdain present on John's face every time he looks at the deceased lets me know that he disliked him immensely, but did not kill him, as the laughable way he tried to hide his alarm at my accusation regarding the sweets did not go unnoticed-"

"Sherlock," Mycroft interrupted, side eyeing his brother. "I'm winning."

John didn't have the mental capacity to wonder what Mycroft meant by that. He was too stunned by his brother's deductions to care about anything other than the intelligent Alpha in front of him. The quickness of his words and the way he'd just dissected both John and his mother without taking a breath did something strange to the Omega's brain, filling it with an admiration that he couldn't quite control.

"That was bloody brilliant!" he exclaimed before he could stop himself.

John felt Sherlock's intense gaze before he saw it.

"Sorry," the Omega mumbled under his breath.

He could have sworn he'd detected a small smile creeping up on the Alpha's full lips, but it was gone by the time John really had a moment to process it.

"But I didn't kill anyone," Olivia spoke up quietly, addressing Sherlock with the same numbness she gave to the rest of her surroundings. "I liked Pontius. He was a good man."

John flinched at that.

"I know," Sherlock responded. "I don't know how yet . . . but I know."

Ichabod, who'd been silent up until this point, laughed humorlessly. "Well, what the hell are we supposed to do now? Our families have been fighting for as long as I can remember. The marriage we still need to plan was going to fix all that, but now we have to worry about a murder that one of you committed in my own house! How in the world do you plan on solving this one, Sherlock Holmes? A case so close to your own person? All of this funny business surrounds yourself and your Omega!"

"I am NOT his Omega!" John snapped, earning a fierce glance from Sherlock.

"Quiet," Ichabod hissed at his son. "You don't get to speak after the nonsense you pulled before your Alpha came through that door."

"Everybody shut up," Sherlock said, looking bored. "I'll figure this out eventually. Right now I'm hungry. Mycroft?"

"Famished," the older man replied happily. "Will the Omega be joining us?"

It was then that both brothers acknowledged John for more than a brief flickering moment. He could feel a weird sensation spread through his belly and up his spine, attacking his head with a tingling reminiscent of the heats he'd grown used to spending alone. It took him some time to realize that what he was feeling was on account of the strong scent permeating his nostrils, assaulting him with the possessiveness Sherlock no doubt experienced the moment John denounced him as his Alpha. The idea that Sherlock could feel any of that toward John was enough to make him back away in an odd combination of fear and hatred, hating himself for responding to the man's exquisite aroma.

Sherlock, who'd no doubt observed every second of this internal struggle, simply smirked and walked out of the room without a word. Just when John thought he was safe, the infuriating Mycroft had the nerve to whisper, "He likes you" in the Omega's ear before turning around, and, after peering curiously at someone out of the corner of John's eye, abruptly slammed the front door.

_Fucking asshole._

"So," Greg piped up from some random corner of the room. "What are we gonna do with the body?"


	5. Secrets

Looking back on Sherlock and John's first meeting, we cannot help but to assume that the tension between these two upstanding young gentlemen will only grow stronger as their tale unfolds. However, while the reader has correctly surmised that the willful Omega known as John Watson will eventually fall irrevocably in love with his proud and stoic Alpha, said reader can't even begin to scratch the surface of the journey it's going to take our dear boy to get there. Luckily, the narrator's nails are the correct length needed to delve low enough into the story to soothe that unbearable itch...

Before going any further into the complexity of our prized couple, we must first take note of the events surrounding them at this particular time. While you may be shouting at your storyteller through whatever electronic device you are using to observe the brilliant narration put forth before your very eyes, it is highly recommended that you tap into whatever patience you possess and focus on the relationships outside of our Alpha and Omega. For you see, there comes a time in certain stories where the perspective of the narrator is needed so that you can process information necessary to understanding the bigger picture, a picture which, believe it or not, involves more than our main protagonist. Observe:

Let's try rewinding the scene where Sherlock locks eyes with John while hunched over the dead body of his wretched uncle. If the reader noticed anything at all, it was the unmistakable electricity flowing from Alpha to Omega, the thrilling emotion that takes place upon an Omega's first meeting with their mate. At that time, you were taken from the world by tour guide John and transported into his brain for the sole purpose of riding with him on the road to love, the whole lot of you starry-eyed waifs so busy focusing on the Alpha/Omega dynamic that you couldn't be bothered to see the actions of the people around you. That is a terrible shame, for, if you had, you'd have seen that it wasn't just our lovely Sherlock and John that shared a look, but a certain other couple as well. Your narrator doesn't put much emphasis on the word "couple" just yet, as these two share something that's much more than just attraction. They share a secret. They know-

Oh, you want the story itself to tell you? Well, then, you ungrateful douchebags . . . let's get on with it, shall we?

* * *

><p><em>How did I get here? Why am I here? What the hell made me think this was a good idea?<em>

Greg Lestrade couldn't find the right frame of mind to help him justify dining with the brother of Sherlock Holmes. After all, it was no surprise to anyone that Greg was John's best friend. That alone should have been enough to deter him from conversing with any member of the family that's helping put his bloke into a situation he doesn't want to be in. Unfortunately, certain circumstances prevented him from putting his sense of loyalty before his need for self-preservation, and the situation he now found himself in provided him with the opportunity to do what he never thought he'd ever do: keep a secret from someone he cares about.

Did it make him feel like a crappy friend? Of course.

Does he want to be here? Absolutely not.

Did he have a choice? Negative.

Welcome to hell.

"You know, I can't help but notice your distaste for the idea of sharing your company with me. I'd have thought it was my choice of restaurants, but something tells me the scowl present on your face has something to do with me being a Holmes. This is about John, isn't it?"

Greg looked up and focused his eyes on Mycroft, trying hard not to show his fear. "I shouldn't be keeping this from him."

"Why not? It's not that big a deal, is it? You said yourself that John hated Pontius. Why would he care that you're the murderer? I'd have thought he'd be overjoyed."

"You were the one that told me to kill him, Mycroft! You said that John's life would have been in danger if I hadn't."

"It would have been," Mycroft assured him calmly. "Please understand that there are forces here beyond your understanding, Gregory. I chose you for this task because I knew you could be trusted."

"How the hell did you know him anyway?"

Mycroft smiled deviously, like he knew something Greg didn't and was proud of it. "The Holmes' and the Watson's go back farther than you could possibly imagine. Their escapades have gotten certain members of both families in some serious trouble. It just so happens that Pontius was dealing with someone whose bad side I'd rather not be on."

Greg stared forlornly at his "date." "You don't plan on giving me any information, do you?"

"No. The less you know, the better."

Somehow, Greg doubted that.

Before the boy had a chance to construct a counter argument, his food arrived on sparkling white china dishes, color made beautiful by the dim light above their heads. It almost seemed like a cruel joke to order the pan-seared salmon, but how could he resist? It might have been Pontius' last meal, but it was also Greg's favorite, and damned if he was going to let that stop him from enjoying it.

Each bite of his food was heavenly. The arugula salad sitting beside his plate of fish went unnoticed as he shoveled the seafood deep into his mouth, moaning obscenely at the taste. Every once in a while, he'd look up and find Mycroft's eyes staring him down with an intensity he couldn't quite place, but quickly got used to. Sure, he felt the first stirrings of something unidentifiable take root in his belly, but he shoved all that aside in favor of finishing everything on his plate, laughing joyously at the incomparable feeling of being full.

"Damn. That was some good salmon, let me tell ya."

"You ate like a pig," Mycroft responded sternly, though there was no real passion behind it.

Greg grinned. There was something funny about a slightly amused Mycroft feigning disgust at his "date's" table manners. He could have fooled anyone with that scowl, but Lestrade somehow knew better. It was as if some invisible force gave him an insight into the man's mind that nobody else would ever share. It surprised Greg because that kind of intimacy was only shared by an Alpha and his Omega, so how he carried that ability was . . . was . . .

_Oh, no._

The exact moment Greg realized Mycroft was his Alpha felt like a douse of cold water on the flames of his existence. Time stood still as both men stared the other down, each taking in the reactions of the other. The look on his Alpha's face transformed right before his very eyes, dissatisfaction giving way to an awareness of Greg's thoughts that left him vulnerable to the sensations ripping him open like knives through flesh. Mycroft's thin lips formed into a smirk that made Greg weak at the knees, heart pulsating in his chest hard enough that he could feel it's beat in his ears.

What does he do? Where do they go from here? Would it be wrong if he acknowledged the bond he shared with Mr. Holmes? Would it anger John?

"Greg," Mycroft murmured.

Greg caught his eye.

"I know what you're thinking, but I can assure you, I'm not your Alpha."

_What?_

Mycroft was denying it. Greg didn't know how or why, but the man opposite him didn't want to think of Greg as his Omega. He didn't know why that stung so much, but the thought of being denied, even by someone he could never see himself with, made his self-worth plummet and fade into nothing. The air suddenly became too thick and he felt like he couldn't breathe. Why did he feel this way? Why did someone who might as well be a complete stranger have this kind of effect on him?

The smugness behind Mycroft's expression became strained, and Greg noticed the hand on the umbrella he always carried with him gripping the handle as if he was forcing himself to remain still.

_No. It must be my imagination. There's no way he would ever want me. I'm unwanted; unloved. I need to get out of here. I need to leave. NOW._

"I-I think I should go," Greg blurted out, running from the table he shared with his Alpha. The other man made no attempt to go after him, a fact which did nothing to lessen the weight of misery pressing down on his chest. Upon reaching his house, two blocks from the place he'd just come from, he quickly darted inside, ignoring the questioning gazes of his meddling parents, and stumbled through the doorway of his bedroom, slamming the door behind him as he rested against the hard wood.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

The tears that landed on the tip of the boy's tongue tasted like salt, a bitter reminder of his deep pain. He'd never imagined being cast aside by your Alpha could feel like this, but the Omega hormones causing his emotions to bleed out of him made him sick to his stomach. He tried to breathe deeply, to shove his hurt so far inside of himself that he'd never find it, but it was no use; the pain was here to stay.

"Why me?" he said to himself. "Why me?"

To Greg's dismay, the room didn't answer.

* * *

><p>"You cannot do this to me! This is not the price we agreed on."<p>

John froze in the hallway when he heard the whispered hiss off his father's voice carry from the master bedroom all the way to where he now stood. It was always like this: his father going off on someone over the phone regarding matters that were of no interest to his only son. However, while this was usually seen as the norm, something in Ichabod's tone had John following the sound until he was directly in front of the room. The door was ajar, giving the boy just enough space to peer inside.

"Listen to me," Ichabod snarled quietly. "I will not be made a fool of. I was informed that the set price was 1,000,000 pounds. You assured me that if the money was delivered by tomorrow, John would be out of the question."

John's eyebrows twisted. _What the hell does that mean?_

"Fine. _Fine_. I'll give you the additional 500,000. I'll be damned if I'm going to give up the only thing stopping the Holmes' family from destroying everything I've worked so hard for. But make no mistake when I say that he'll never get his hands on that boy. You can try to feed me that bullshit about some stranger killing Pontius, but I know it was him. I've forked over enough of my time and resources to that man. After this, our business is done!"

John slapped his hand over his mouth, mortified at the small gasp that slipped from his lips. His entire body shook and he couldn't quite contain his uneven breathing long enough to get himself in control. Sweat dampened his clothes and hair, and he realized with horror that his Alpha father would smell the Omega's fear from inside the bedroom, a fear which was given voice when Ichabod's head shot up toward the door in surprise, the anger on his face making John retread into the shadows, holding himself steady in anticipation. Ichabod slowly came to the door, each step sounding like the quiet stalking of a predator.

_Don't let him see me. Please, don't let him see me._

His father's head peeked out as he moved his gaze from left to right, sniffing the air as if he sensed an alien presence he wasn't quite sure was really there. He breathed in and expelled slowly, growling slightly. Whatever he detected from the hall was a secret John would never find out, as his father turned and shut the door without a word. John immediately disappeared into his own bedroom and sighed in relief when he was alone, happy that he'd managed to escape such a harrowing situation with his balls still intact.

John couldn't begin to formulate the questions running through his mind following everything he'd just seen and heard. He wasn't sure who was on the phone with his father, or what exactly it was that this mystery man wanted with him, but one thing was for certain: he was dying to find out.

The sound of his cell blazed through the quiet of his room, disrupting his thoughts. Frowning, he picked up and recited his usual "Hello?" into the speaker.

"John, it's Mycroft."

"Oh," John exclaimed, surprised. "Uh . . . hi? How did you get this number?"

Mycroft sighed. "It doesn't matter. Listen, I'm going to stop by your place tomorrow night with Sherlock."

John scoffed in annoyance.

"Try to contain your excitement," Mycroft said sarcastically. "Your father wouldn't want me coming alone, so I have to bring him and make it seem like it's a social visit serving as a courting ritual for you and your Alpha."

Now John was intrigued. "But that's not what this is?"

"Just be ready by 7:00. If you're lucky, I could be persuaded into bargaining with your father for a chance to snatch you away from your household so you can spend a weekend at a place of your choosing. I'll assure him that you're with Sherlock, of course."

A chance to escape from beneath his domineering father's iron fist? How in the world could he possibly say no? There was just thing he had to ask.

"Alright, deal. I just have one question: what is it you're so desperate to talk to me about?"

Mycroft's silence lasted longer than John was comfortable with, leaving behind a stillness that was both awkward and unpleasant when created between people who don't really know each other. When the man finally replied, his answer caught John off guard in a way that he didn't expect, the second shock of the night making him wonder if fate itself wasn't trying to give him a heart attack.

"Greg Lestrade."

Yep. The universe definitely wanted him dead.


	6. Paying The Price

Sunlight peeked through the curtains of John's bedroom window, yellow slivers falling on his face as he stared up at the ceiling. Despite his current train of thought, every bone in his body was so relaxed that he melted into his ivory sheets, lashes drooping from lack of sleep. Fatigue might have won the war it waged on him, had John been anything other than the stubborn bastard he knew himself to be. Luckily, he was just as headstrong at that particular moment as he ever was, which was probably the reason he suddenly found himself using the excuse morning provided to stumble out of bed in a half-assed attempt to stay on his own two feet, all the while thinking of how great a world it would be if only he'd resisted getting drunk out of his mind the night before.

It wasn't his fault. He knows that. He's simply a person of admirable determination. He was determined to drown away his sorrows in a bottle and prevent himself from going off into La La Land. He did both. However, certain times in life require submission, regardless of a person's dominant nature, and John's overworked brain was certainly making damned sure he knew the ramifications of ignoring his need for some serious shut-eye. That didn't matter, though, because he was determined-yes, DETERMINED-to soldier on. Not even science was going to prevent him from surviving another sleepless night unscathed, and if fate should try to interfere with John's plans, fate would get a great big kick in the nuts . . . so to speak.

This was all Mycroft's fault. If he hadn't called the previous night just to drag Greg into the mess his world had become, John would have easily fallen into the warm embrace of unconsciousness without so much as batting an eyelash. But that would be too simple, wouldn't it? Those damn Holmes' found life much more satisfying when they were destroying a member of the Watson family. Heathens, the whole lot of them.

John cursed under his breath and went into the adjoining bathroom, splashing cold water on his face while he contemplated committing suicide. Sure, he wasn't _that_ depressed, but he still got a kick out of the imagined horrified expressions of the people he hated as they stared at his bloated corpse suspended from a cable attached to the living room chandelier. While it would suck to waste all of his potential just for the sake of sadism, the pain and discomfort of suffocation would be well worth the devastation he'd cause to those god awful families.

"John Hamish Watson, get your ass out here now!"

_What the . . . ?_

John opened up the bathroom door, looking at his father in confusion. "You really were banging on this thing for a while, weren't ya?" _How did he not notice that? _

Ichabod's purple face sported scarlet patches of rage as he stared his son down, looking so much like a demented serial killer that John couldn't help but crack a smile. "What the bloody hell is this?" he hissed. "How in the world can you stand there and look so happy after all that's happened? More importantly, just how in the hell did you think you could set up a dinner date with the Holmes brothers without notifying me? I bet you thought tonight would be the perfect chance to try to weasel your way out of this marriage, didn't you, you little shit?"

John didn't respond. He was too busy trying not to laugh.

"Well, that's not gonna happen. On your dead grandfather's name, I swear to all that is holy, I will die before I allow you to corrupt this family with your Omegist view of life. I've had just about all I can take from you. I'm going to call our lawyer and set up the wedding for next weekend."

John's smile faltered. "What?"

"Oh, _that_ got your attention, I see," Ichabod sneered. "I'm glad this situation is no longer amusing to you. I'm done ignoring your childish behavior, mate. From now on, I'm not only going to address it, but stop it from continuing as well. It's not right for an Omega to go through life without an Alpha, and I refuse to tip toe through shards of broken glass in my house. You're going to marry that boy, move in with him, the families will be at peace, and I can finally get you off my goddamn back! No more of this coddling you bullshit. I'm done!"

Ichabod stormed off down the hallway, leaving an enraged John standing in the middle of the bathroom. He could feel anger bubbling up inside his chest, traveling through his veins until every part of him was alight with it. His fists clenched so hard, he was sure his nails were digging deep into the skin of his palms. Who the hell his father thought he was, John wasn't sure, but the words he'd just screamed echoed in the walls of the boy's mind, strengthening his resolve to stay as far away from married life as he could. This entire thing was a hoax, a veil that these people are putting over their heads to get the illusion that it'll actually be the key to solving all their problems. Well, it won't. John wasn't stupid enough to believe that, and he hated his dad enough that he'd still protest this wedding even if it was their salvation . . . _especially_ if it was their salvation. John didn't want anything to be their salvation. He wanted it to be their doom.

Before he even knew what he was doing, John destroyed everything in that cramped little space, breaking mirrors and ripping both the shower curtain and the rod from their place above the tub. Taking the rod, he banged at the tiles on the wall until all his rage was spent, causing him to fall to the floor in a pitiful heap of misery and despair. Ignoring the bleeding knuckles aching from his abuse, he slowly put his head in his hands and wept, hating the tears that trickled down his face. They were nothing more than a reminder of his weakness and his failure, salty badges of emotional truth that laughed and mocked him for his inability to control his own emotions.

_It's not right for an Omega to go through life without an Alpha._

Why him? Why did he have to be the Omega, touched by greatness, but burdened by compliance? Did having the gift of bestowing life, the blessing of feeling strong emotions, and the power of love really make him the poster child for subjugation? Does being an Omega make him weak and vulnerable because he lacks the physical strength and heartlessness Alphas seem to possess? What was it about Omegas that made society think they were nothing more than the ground beneath an Alpha's feet, with no greater purpose than to keep the superior species above them from falling while they're constantly stepped on?

John never should have pushed his father. If he'd pretended to be an obedient little Omega, Ichabod wouldn't have felt the need to punish his son by moving the wedding date forward. Now what was once an amusing, yet alarming situation has turned into a full on tragedy. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, but he knew that he couldn't go through with it. This whole marriage thing . . . it would destroy him. But how do you get out of something like this? What in the world could he possibly do to ensure that he remained single, regardless of the contract both families have put in place?

"I'm such a fool," John mumbled, hanging his head in defeat. He was so tied up in his own misery that he didn't even notice the footsteps of another being in the room until the person in question was standing right in the doorway.

"Don't upset yourself with such triviality, John. Most people are."

John's eyes snapped open at the familiar baritone voice. His sight immediately found the black shoes standing on the floor and traveled up, past the black trousers and purple shirt until those damn blue eyes pierced a hole right through him the way they'd done the first time he'd ever been cursed with their presence. A chill slid down his spine, slipped into his knickers and implanted itself in his groin.

Why did he have to have this connection with his Alpha anyway? The man was clearly a robot, if his emotionless tone was anything to go by. What kind of relationship would that be? An Omega who wanted nothing to do with an Alpha and an Alpha who wanted nothing to do with an Omega? How on God's green earth could that ever be possible?

"John?"

The thoughtful boy shook his head to rid himself of his inner dialogue, looking up at that dolt Sherlock Holmes with a distaste he hoped the young man would be offended by.

"There's something I have to do, but I need someone else there when I do it. Would you be willing to assist me?"

John didn't know why he didn't hesitate. He didn't rant, rave, or curse the Alpha out the way he wanted to. Instead, he said one word, and one word only . . . the word of an utter jackass.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>"Ah, John! So lovely to have you in our home."<p>

John, stunned out of his mind, turned to Sherlock and watched as he removed his scarf from his neck, placing it on the coat rack before walking away from his bewildered Omega. John tracked his movements with trepidation, wondering why his Alpha left him all alone with a very eager looking Burgess Holmes. When Sherlock disappeared down the hall, the old man's voice finally registered with John.

"Watson?"

One shake of the head, and the boy's eyes finally tore themselves away from the place where his Alpha had been, turning his attention to the man in front of him. "Oh, uh . . . h-hi, Mr. Holmes."

"Call me Burgess, please."

John nodded. "Very well."

"Would you mind walking with me, lad? Spare a poor old man a little bit of your time."

_Something about this is very off-putting_, John thought to himself. Out loud, he said, "Sure."

Burgess led John outside to a little garden that held a pathway leading up to a greenhouse. John eyed the flowers with little interest, too caught up in the uncomfortable silence as he clung desperately to an invisible raft he was pretty sure didn't exist.

"So, John . . . how do you like Sherrinford? Dead ringer for Sherlock, isn't he?"

John stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded. "W-what?"

"The boy you probably thought was Sherlock. That's actually his twin brother. I asked him to bring you here so that I could have a word with you. We both knew you'd think he was Sherlock. However, we weren't sure you'd actually come. Glad to see you did."

_Sherrinford. Brother. TWIN brother. Sherlock had a twin brother. _

_The fuck did I get myself into?_

"I see I've upset you," Burgess noted the panic on the boy's face hesitantly. "I apologize profusely for my deception, but I had to find some way to get you here and I didn't know if I could ask because you don't know me very well. I could have asked Sherlock himself, but I have no doubt in my mind he'd find such a task tedious."

John didn't bother to respond. Instead, he continued to watch the old man babble with what must have been a pretty stupid look on his face. Getting involved in such a crazy situation will often do that to a person, after all.

"The thing I'm trying to say, dear boy, is that I brought you here today because I want us to get to know each other. I got a call from your father earlier and he told me that you were having dinner with my sons tonight. I knew that wasn't your doing. I don't know what's going on or why that business started, but I can't help but be alarmed that you have no desire for marriage. I can deal with the rest of the mysteries surrounding this entire thing. I can do that all day. What I can't do, is have a son-in-law who hates my entire family because he thinks we've forced him into a relationship he doesn't want to be in. The last thing I want is your unhappiness, Mr. Watson. I may have drawn up this contract with your family, but it was only because I needed to secure the future of my own. It was the best luck in the world when we found out you two were destined for each other. It was like this was bound to happen. It was like fate."

"I-I-I don't understand," John interrupted firmly, anger rising. "How in the world could you all possibly know we were meant for each other? And just what makes you think a marriage is going to solve anything? What the hell is_wrong_ with you people?"

"Please understand, John. I didn't want any of you to suffer. We all thought that if a Holmes developed a bond with a Watson that we could unite our families through them. You may not know this, but when you and Sherlock were children, we had the two of you meet. From the moment you both laid eyes on each other, I knew, John. We all knew. It was destiny. This thought of an arranged marriage was placed in our heads through divine intervention. I believe there is a higher power up there somewhere, and I can't help but think they were smiling down on us all the day we discovered the undeniable proof that you and my son were meant to be."

"But I don't want to be bound to him!" John yelled. "Don't you understand that?"

"I do," Barnabas said sadly. "I know that, despite finding a mate, both parties need to allow it to happen for the bond to mean anything. An Alpha and an Omega can be destined for each other all they want, but if one doesn't acknowledge the pull they feel toward the other, they're both doomed. I wanted you two to grow up together, but certain circumstances prevented that from happening. I didn't want you or my boy to get hurt, so I was forced to keep you two apart until you were both old enough to fend for yourselves. Now I'm paying the price for it."

"No," John said shakily, ignoring the emotion behind the word as he shook his head. "_I'm_ paying for it."

Barnabas and John stared at each other. The old man frowned at the pain in the boy's eyes. He almost regretted setting this whole thing up, but he couldn't allow himself to be swayed by emotion. John was still young enough that he couldn't see what a blessing this was. He was a part of something big, something amazing. Sure, there would be obstacles, but if Barnabas could just get the child to see that this didn't have to be a bad thing, this marriage could save not only the families, but John and Sherlock as well. John needed to see that being an Omega was a powerful thing, and Sherlock needed someone to humanize him, turn him from a great man into a good one. Their personalities were so well matched that it stunned Barnabas. Sherlock would satisfy John's need for freedom and adventure, teaching him that having an Alpha by his side that understood him and treated him as an equal was the best self-esteem booster in the world for an Omega. In return, John would place himself inside the lonely world of Sherlock Holmes and teach the heartless Alpha humanity, tear down all of those walls Sherlock spent so long building and show him the beauty of love and compassion. A bored, angry, defiant Omega in need of someone to take him away from his detestable existence and show him his true power. A cold, unfeeling Alpha in need of someone to stand by his side and share his love of adventure and excitement. Someone who will thaw his frozen heart and replace contempt with love.

Thinking about the two boys filling each other's meaningless lives with purpose was the final nail needed for a coffin of this magnitude. There was no getting around it and there was no use in denying it. Those kids were perfect for one another.

As John turned and walked away, he might have been thinking his life was about to end. In reality, it was only the beginning, the starting point of an adventure he'd never forget. Barnabas smiled at the boy's back, glancing at Sherrinford through his peripherals as his son moved forward to stand by his side.

"I hope you know what you're doing, father."

"Oh, I believe I do," Barnabas replied excitedly. "I finally do."

* * *

><p>Two eyes met in a darkened room with drawn curtains, emotionless glares dripping with unseen challenge. Stillness reigned supreme in the enclosed space, with only the clicking of the grandfather clock on the wall giving sound to the suffocating silence. A dangerous battle of wills was taking place in that room, and, much like Highlander, there could be only one winner.<p>

Movement was made by one of the challengers, and the other tried to hide their smile as an event that he foresaw took place before his very eyes, securing the fate of his insufferable opponent. A couple more were made before the smug one dared to speak, taking a piece off a board placed on a table in front of him and moving it to the desired location.

"One of these days, you will come to the realization that there is a moment in life where you must sacrifice your queen to achieve the desired result. It is lucky for me that I was fortunate enough to learn that lesson a long time ago."

The opponent's eyes narrowed as he saw his defeat play out in slow motion, saying nothing while he watched the last move executed in such a way that he could have gladly strangled the man in front of him, had he been able to admit that said man was one of the few people in the world that could get a rise out of the otherwise stoic Alpha.

The Knight was moved. The game was over. Mycroft, as always, was the winner.

"Checkmate."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Mycroft grinned. "Quite."

"And you wonder why I refuse to participate in a relationship with you."

"Oh, please," Mycroft responded, waving his hand dismissively. "My competitiveness isn't the problem here. Now, on to more important matters. I've invited both myself and my little brother to the Watson household for dinner."

Sherlock's head snapped up. "The home of my Omega."

Mycroft watched the curiosity that flashed through the icy blue orbs with a terrible frown. He had no idea that Sherlock and John were mates before he'd seen them together. After the dinner where Pontius was murdered, there was no denying the incredible effect the little Omega had on Mycroft's brother. While he knew Sherlock didn't want or believe in love, he had a strange feeling the Alpha's obvious attraction to him would prove a problem if the man became entangled in a web Mycroft didn't want him to be in. How was he expected to protect the kid when he wasn't even aware of his own bond? Sherlock didn't know it yet, but his interest in John Watson would turn into something much more dangerous, something he wouldn't be able to contain, no matter how emotionless he believed himself to be.

The older man might have been right about this marriage not solving a thing, but he couldn't help kicking himself in the ass for not predicting an actual bond existing between the Alpha and Omega. How was he going to keep such a situation from spiraling out of control? More importantly, how was he going to keep himself from falling prey to the same fate? Gregory Lestrade was his mate. He detested the feelings that developed at just the thought of the boy. He made Mycroft feel something he'd always thought was beneath him. For the first time in his life, it wasn't just Sherlock Mycroft needed to protect, but a certain little Omega that the Alpha was sure would one day be the death of him.

Damn little shit.

"We need to be there. Don't ask me why. Just say yes."

Mycroft wasn't sure whether it was relief or fear that came over him when Sherlock said yes without a moment's hesitation, but he had a feeling that things were beginning to heat up in a way he didn't think he was comfortable with, and he hated himself for admitting that, no matter what happened, he wouldn't be able to handle the repercussions. No wonder he didn't believe in love. It was too complicated and irrational to ever be considered logical.

Refusing to voice his concern, Mycroft plastered a fake smile on his face and walked away, wiping it off the moment he stepped foot outside and noticed a boy leaving the Holmes residence, a boy with a face that displayed all of the man's problems on every surface of his skin.

_I've got my eye on you, John Watson_, he thought to himself. _One wrong move, and it'll be your family's last. _


	7. Partnership

_*Clears throat.*_ It is important to note that on this very day fifteen years ago, two boys met for the first time inside the residence of a Mr. Barnabas and Miss Agatha Holmes, one carrying a kind, yet guarded expression; the other, a shrewd and inquisitive look that quickly morphed into curiosity at the thing standing before him with the puppy dog eyes and shy smile. While it may have seemed that the more calculating of the two didn't particularly care for the prospect of acquiring a new friend, the day, believe it or not, ended up reversing the roles quite dramatically. So much so, that by the end of the play date, the timid child was left strutting around central London with a face that clearly resembled the very definition of pride, while the other stood behind and watched with quiet fascination and rather enlarged pupils at the boy who'd managed to capture every bit of his precious attention.

These two boys, as you may have guessed, were Sherlock Holmes and John Hamish Watson. _No, no, no. Don't ask the narrator why she felt the need to include John's middle name. Just accept it and move on. _The fact that such an event took place on the very day that the adult version of their "play date" was about to . . . take place, could be seen as either fate, or a practical joke done by the most comedic of gods. No matter the reason, this day would always be an important one for both the boys and the reader, as this marks the beginning of the "Johnlock" relationship; in the past, as well as the present.

As your trusty narrator stands in the middle of Ichabod's study, she-_*trips over a bump in the rug*_-falls on her fat ass, apparently. My . . . this is, er . . . this is embarrassing. It's okay, though! While we may be here with our lovely John, he is in the past, and therefore cannot see us.

Regretfully, the narrator is now going to have to withdraw from the storytelling and allow John's thoughts to explain what is currently happening in the story for you, as her ego and bum are hurting too much to go on. We shall meet again, reader. Until then, enjoy the show, and may you be blessed with better coördination than that of . . . well, you get the picture.

* * *

><p>Sitting on a chair, both arms resting on the ends, was John Watson, staring defiantly at the clock on the wall as it ticked closer and closer to the dreaded time when the Holmes brothers would return to once again wreak havoc on his life. He could feel every muscle in his body twitch with a mixture of irritation and excitement, unsure if he was 100% disgusted with the idea of being so close to Mycroft's infuriating little brother.<p>

John . . . excited to see Sherlock. Wasn't that just bloody brilliant.

It infuriated the Omega to know that there was a part of him that entertained the prospect of getting to know that man. Sherlock may be an interesting fellow, but making John see the appeal was going too far. He was supposed to be the strong Omega that all the others could depend on, the one who refused to be swayed by his oppressors and their disgusting views on what his kind were and weren't capable of. How would it look to Greg and the others if he gave up now and played house with some dominant Alpha who would no doubt spend the rest of his life putting John in his "place?" He'd be seen as a failure. He'd feel like a failure. He'd _be_ a failure.

John's forehead creased with resolve. There was no way in hell that was ever gonna happen. While he had no choice but to be subjected to a dinner surrounded by Alphas, he'd rather die than waste his life with one. When those boys came through his door, he would be polite, yet firm when he told them that he didn't plan on ever giving Sherlock what the world tells him he's supposed to. He'd marry him, sure. He was left with no other option. However, he'd be damned if he was going to sleep with him, cook his dinner, bear his pups, or further inflate his already giant ego. He was an Omega. He was strong, independent, and he didn't need Sherlock to take care of him. He didn't need his money, his influence, or his physical prowess. All he needed was himself.

The ringing of the doorbell disrupted John's thoughts. Glancing once more at the clock, he couldn't help but let a small smile slip when he noticed the brothers were right on time. He didn't expect anything less of them. What did surprise him, though, was the absence of Sherlock when he finally managed to win the fight with his deadbolt.

"He's coming," Mycroft said, barging past John. "Mummy kept him busy with something of the utmost importance . . . to her anyway."

John didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent.

"So," Mycroft started, looking around the room in distaste. "What have you been up to, hmm?"

It took the Omega some time to answer. He was too busy fuming over the way the older man looked at his house. While the Watson's weren't as well off as the Holmes', he couldn't help but feel a certain pride in the fact that each and every single member of his family worked their bums off for what they had, and seeing an Alpha who was born into money look at John's dwelling as a place of inferiority made him want to scream.

"Oh, you know . . . the usual. Cooking, cleaning, being submissive to Alphakind."

Mycroft smirked. "You really are as fiery as they say, aren't you, Mr. Watson?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am; especially when it comes to my friends."

The smirk on the man's face disappeared.

"What do you want with Greg, Mycroft?"

Emotion flitted over Mycroft's face before he schooled it into his usual mask. "All in due time, my dear boy."

John was going to reply, but it was then that something in the air suddenly shifted, leaving him completely immobile. The wind from outside blew through the entire household, bringing with it a familiar scent that lit John's fire. His skin was tingling with arousal, his bottom lip falling uncharacteristically between his teeth. He didn't have to turn around to know who was behind him. Why would he even bother? His hormones told him of the other boy's presence before he could even get a word out.

"Sherlock," John murmured.

"John," came a deep voice behind him.

How could he have not noticed the other day that Sherrinford wasn't Sherlock? The reaction he'd had to seeing someone that resembled his Alpha was nothing compared to the pure lust coursing through him now. It must have been the smell. Sherrinford didn't have a smell. Sherlock did, though, and it took every ounce of self-control John had not to bend over like a good little bitch and rub his needy hole all over the Alpha's crotch.

_Why am I reacting like this? I didn't react like this the first time, did I?_

John turned around slowly, taking in Sherlock Holmes in all his Alpha glory. He looked the same as he did the first time John saw him, the only difference being the absence of his scarf and jacket. His cheeks were tinged with pink from the cold, and his breath shown in the light of the day as he watched John with a twinkle of amusement and a hint of something darker that had the Omega fighting to keep his sanity.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said from somewhere behind John. "I see you've managed to get here in the freezing cold without your coat."

"I'd have it if someone didn't take it without my knowledge," Sherlock replied, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the Omega in front of him.

"I did nothing of the sort."

Sherlock stared at John, making his insides turn to jelly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, brother mine."

John was having trouble breathing. That smirk of his . . . he knew exactly what he was doing. This was all just some sort of elaborate plan, wasn't it? Make the Omega sex-crazed long enough to mount him and claim him in front of everyone. With the way John was feeling right now, he'd probably let him.

"May John and I have a moment alone, please?"

_Oh no._ This couldn't possibly be happening. John alone with Sherlock. It didn't compute. _Couldn't_ compute.

The hope that Mycroft would object was shattered when the Alpha walked out of the room and left John without a lifeline, making the boy feel anger and fear in equal measure. _This is why Alphas can't be trusted._

Sherlock walked slowly up to John, meticulous steps that reverberated through the walls. His shoes on the wooden floor were so final sounding that it was almost as if death itself was paying the boy a visit. He had no doubt in his mind that he would die here. He would be claimed and violated and all of his hard work would be fruitless. Sherlock would no doubt bend him over, display his dominance and show John that Omegas really were nothing more than sex slaves. It didn't matter, did it? By the end of the night, John would be nothing more than a weakling.

When Sherlock was finally in front of him, John prepared himself for the worst. _This is it, mate. Life, as you know it, is about to be over. Accept your defeat with dignity and worry about the consequences later._

Sherlock stared at John for a long time. His face displayed no emotion that the Omega could see, but he kept on waiting for that other shoe to drop. It was only a matter of time now. John just wished he'd get it over with.

After what felt like forever, a hand thrust up and caught John's eye. "Sherlock Holmes."

John looked bewildered, but took the offered hand just the same, reveling in how soft the Alpha's skin was. "Uh, J-John W-Watson."

"Charmed," Sherlock said, breaking away and walking around the room with his hands behind his back. "So . . . it appears that you and I are going to be married."

John blinked. "Appears so, yes."

Silence. Then, "How do you feel about that?"

_Irritated. Confused. Defiant. Aroused._ "I don't know."

Sherlock gave him a knowing look. "John. You may be able to lie to everyone else in your life, but you can't lie to me."

Something about the way Sherlock uttered those words scared John, like he was about to wed a boy who'd know every thought he'd ever have until the day he died. It was too intimate for his liking, but at this particular moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. Luckily, some of his fire came back long enough for him to speak his mind.

"I hate it. I don't want to have anything to do with you."

"Why is that?"

"You're an _Alpha_," John said the words as if they were distasteful. "Your entire purpose is to make my kind miserable. You breed us, then make us forfeit our freedom and take care of you for the rest of our lives. I won't have it."

"Won't you?" Sherlock turned around, unaffected by John's opinion on his Alpha status. "What makes you so certain that every Alpha in the world is the way you've described? Have you met all of us?"

John folded his arms over his chest. "No."

"Then how can you be so sure?"

"I just am."

"Really?" Sherlock said, stepping into John's personal space. "You know, I could just as well say that every Omega on the planet is easily manipulated into doing an Alpha's bidding. After all, there is plenty of evidence to support my hypothesis. An Omega is programmed to reproduce, start a family. It's been scientifically proven that they're more emotional than an Alpha, making them highly sensitive to the world around them. It would be so easy for someone like me to implant myself into their psyche, wouldn't it? Make them believe I loved and cared about them long enough to use them for my pleasure and discard them afterwards like the brainless, illogical pests that they are."

John's fists clenched, fury eradicating the lust he'd felt for the man. "You son of a-"

"You misunderstand me," Sherlock interrupted. A moment went by where the Alpha simply stared at John as if he were a work of art, a mystery he was keen on solving. "You, my dear John Watson, have just demolished nearly every opinion I've just stated regarding Omegas. You're kind and compassionate, yet you continually refuse to allow an Alpha access to your extraordinary heart and mind. You're both emotional and intelligent, using a combination of love and logic to make it through this soap opera we call life. You feel an intense attraction to me, but not once have you begged me to take you. You're strong, and you're not afraid to face a threat the world tells you is stronger than you to get what you want. You're utterly fearless, an attribute I admire greatly. When it comes to everything I've said before about your kind, you. Are. Evidence . . . to the contrary."

John's head was swimming. Sherlock was coming closer. Why did he insist on coming so close?

"Don't be so quick to judge Alphas, John. We're not all like how you imagine. You're not the only one unwilling to conform to society's standards. I am too, and as much as you'd like to reject me, I will be your husband. There's no way around it. We might as well make the most of it."

John's face hardened. "How?"

"A partnership. My brother, as you well know, practically owns the British government. He uses his power and influence to find me crimes the detectives can't solve."

"Where does that leave me?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. After searching the other boy's face, he replied, "I require an assistant."

"Assistant?"

"Yes. You remain by my side, aiding me in my endeavors, and in return, I'll provide you with the freedom you so desperately seek."

"What kind of freedom?"

"You're as easily bored as I am, Omega. I knew it the moment I first saw you. Imagine the adventures we could have, John. You'd no longer have to sit here all alone, caged by these walls surrounding you now. There would be no pups, no housework. Just you and I against the world, defying our families, getting into trouble, putting criminals behind bars. Don't tell me that doesn't interest you."

John looked at Sherlock as if he'd grown a third leg. "You're serious."

"Of course. I may not be able to stop this wedding from taking place, but I can at least make what happens afterward bearable for the both of us. It's an extremely generous offer, one which I hope you'll accept with limited reservations."

Limited reservations? He couldn't possibly be serious.

All of John's thoughts flew out the window as Sherlock came impossibly closer, so close that the Omega could feel his body heat through their clothing. While Sherlock's offer was more than tempting, John just couldn't see why he should trust someone he barely knew enough to put his life into their hands. What if he was lying? This could just be some play on his emotions, couldn't it? Although . . . if that were true, what reason could Sherlock have for lying? It was clear that he didn't want to get married anymore than John did. What if he really was being sincere? While John found it incredibly hard to trust an Alpha, Sherlock made an excellent point about them not all being the same. What if he was different? What if he deserved more credit than John was giving him?

"John Watson," Sherlock said, bringing the boy back to reality. "Will you be my Omega?"

"Will you be my Alpha?" John asked saucily.

Sherlock's mouth twitched in barely concealed amusement. "Yes."

"Then," John said hesitantly, gazing into Sherlock's eyes, "I accept."

"Good."

The next thirty seconds passed by in a blur. John didn't have time to process much, but the next thing he knew, the Alpha was at the front door, poking his head inside to glance briefly at John. "Until next time."

It took the Alpha slamming the door in John's face for him to realize their time together had reached its untimely end. John was shocked to discover he was rather disappointed. God help him, but he actually didn't want Sherlock to leave, and the impact of the boy's departure was felt almost instantly, like a hallow emptiness had wormed its way into John's soul and found a home there against his will.

"Bastard," he whispered to himself.

"My thoughts exactly."

John whipped his head around to peer at Mycroft, sighing loudly. If Alphas had to take a test to see which one of them had the skills to be a ninja, Mycroft would pass with flying colors. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough. I suppose you want to discuss Gregory now, though I don't know how much I can disclose to you at this time."

The thought of his friend associating with Mycroft in any way, shape, or form had John stewing in anger. "What the hell do you want with my friend?"

Mycroft's expression was intense, too intense for John to think the man's involvement in Greg's life was something he could just will away. "Absolutely nothing."

"Then why bring him up?"

"I want you to take care of him. I can't explain, and I don't want you to say anything to him about this, but the boy has included himself in something that runs deeper than you can ever imagine. I've taken liberties to make sure he has a safe place to stay, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to accompany him on his journey."

The pieces from John's conversation with Mycroft on the phone the other day finally fell into place. "When you told me you'd talk father into letting me go away . . . the part where you told me it would be a place of my choosing . . . you lied to me?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby, John. So I manipulated you. Don't feel so special. I do it to everyone."

"You people are fucking crazy! Why the hell do you want to drag me and my mate to some random location? What has Greg done, huh? What could he possibly be involved in?"

"That's none of your concern," Mycroft replied tiredly. "Just . . . make sure he's safe. If you care about your friend, it has to be this way. Now, are you going to help me convince Ichabod or not?"

John's head slumped in defeat. Of all the bullshit he'd had to deal with the past couple days, this definitely took the cake. "I don't see what choice I have."

"Good. I'll go fetch your father."

"Wait! Can you at least tell me who we'll be staying with?"

Mycroft stopped walking, huffing quietly. Turning around, he looked John in the eye with the intimidating stare he'd always be known for, and uttered a dreadful name that, looking back on it now, would have made John's skin crawl if he knew then what he knew now. It was a name that belonged to the craziest son of a bitch in the world, a name that John _still_ despised to this day.

"Jim. Jim Moriarty."


	8. The Plot Thickens

The Watson household lay dormant beneath an ebony sky. The first stirrings of a storm brewed from the north, sending tiny rumbles of thunder from a distance. The impending doom reached John's ears as he waited impatiently in the darkness, doing his best to prevent hyperventilation from destroying whatever semblance of control he still possessed. It seemed like it took forever for the elder Holmes to make his entrance, though the frightened Omega couldn't say he was entirely perturbed by such a fact.

As usual, it was all Mycroft's fault.

He could still remember what happened the previous night after his brief encounter with Sherlock. Visions of his father bloomed in his mind, leaving behind an unsavory aftertaste he couldn't get out of his mouth.

_"I appreciate you taking him off my hands, Mycroft. I'm also overjoyed that you agreed with my desire to move up the wedding. I was thinking the children could wed next Sunday. I've heard we might actually see a bit of sun that day. Can you believe it? I almost died of shock."_

John blew a breath out from between his parched lips, clutching his stomach as he hunched over, trying to control his breathing.

_"Oh, it will be glorious. Can you imagine the publicity we'll get? Most of the town knows about my son and his ridiculous Omegist views. It'll do him good to get fucked and bred full of pups. It sure as hell would teach him his place, now wouldn't it?"_

Ichabod's laughter breezed through John's memory uncomfortably, making the nauseous Omega stumble over his own two feet on his trip to the front door. Ripping it open, he threw himself over the front of his porch and vomited into his mother's flower bed. Relieving himself of all his stress was no easy task, but his body refused to let up, forcing his disgust up and out of his mouth until he found himself dry heaving to his own disturbing thoughts. Shaking profusely, John waited until the feeling in his throat and stomach lessened before sinking to the floor in a panic, trying unsuccessfully to cease his rapid breathing.

A sudden and violent need to compose himself without the watchful gaze of Mycroft Holmes analyzing his every move went unmet as some part of his consciousness registered the familiar clicking of neatly polished shoes approaching his huddled form with deliberate steps. It took all of two seconds for the man to stare disapprovingly down at John as if he were a parent scolding their child's unacceptable behavior, making the boy glare back up at him with hatred.

"I was hoping this would be an _easy_ drop off, but it seems I was mistaken."

A flash of lightning, and rain was pouring off the pavement as if for dramatic effect, lighting up Mycroft's annoyed face. John hated that face, and he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had the same reaction to his overbearing older brother that he did. Just that fact alone could be enough to unite the Alpha and Omega, a thought that would have made John smile had he been in the mood for humor. Instead, all he felt was fear and rage.

_I suppose I should start getting used to that, eh?_ he thought to himself.

"Oh, for God's sake," Mycroft snapped, interrupting John's internal monologue. "You expelled your insides all over the lady's smock. Those white petals are rare, John. They should be respected and cherished, not used as a punching bag for your abuse. Get up, compose yourself, and get into the limo. I swear, all this getting up and doing my own dirty work is beyond irritating."

Mycroft walked away and left John alone, obviously assuming he would follow. And why wouldn't he? What other choice did he really have? He could resist, but that would only add more fuel to the fire and that was not something the Omega wanted at this point in time. He could, however, make the man's life a living hell. He'd come to the conclusion that he was going to do the same with Sherlock, partnership be damned. Why not give equal treatment to the brother-in-law as well?

It was with great effort and admirable skill that John was able to make it into the limousine without puking the rest of his intestines all over the driveway. It was an incredible feat. John was mighty proud, if he did say so himself. But the victory was short lived when the gravity of the situation finally dawned on him. He was getting married next week . . . to an Alpha. He was being uprooted from his home to the home of someone he knew nothing about. As if that wasn't enough, he was going to have Greg with him. John was always extremely protective of his friends, but how could he care for both himself and another Omega? He could barely save himself from Pontius' clutches when he was a child. How was he supposed to escape his own fate when he had to help someone else escape theirs as well?

John was starting to feel like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but he had to move forward, didn't he? It was the only choice he had. He just hoped this entire thing didn't end tragically. With all the hard work he put into making himself the strongest Omega he could be, it would be a shame if his father's words to him when he was younger proved themselves true.

_"What's this I hear about you talking back to an Alpha?"  
><em>

_Little John fixed his doe eyes on his father, feeling small compared to the big man staring up at him. "He said I was weak and useless. My feelings got hurt, so I wanted to prove him wrong."_

_Ichabod's cruel laughter pierced a hole right through his son's heart. "Don't you see? You are weak, John. All Omegas are. It's in your DNA."_

_John's tears blurred his vision. "You're wrong, dad! You are!" _

_Ichabod grabbed John by his shirt collar, looking so frightening, John could feel himself shrinking in his chair, bowing his head in defeat. His father smiled. "See what I mean? Didn't take too long to recognize the power of an Alpha, did it? You're a sniveling, sneezing baby. I'm sick of having a willful, disobedient little brat for a child. You are going to start showing Alphas the respect they deserve, son. You're going to learn your place!"_

_"P-please let me go," John sniffled quietly. _

_"First, tell me what I wanna hear."_

_"I-"_

_"TELL ME!"_

_He had to say it. He had no choice. "O-omegas are weak." _

_Ichabod's eyes softened. Patting John on the head, he smiled with happiness, a feeling the boy was convinced only Alphas were allowed to experience. "That's a good lad." _

"John?"

John lifted his head slowly when he heard Mycroft address him, haziness clouding his brain. "Hmm?"

The elder Holmes shot the Omega an inquisitive stare. "We're here."

_We're here._ For some reason, everything around John started to shrink and distort into abstract images he couldn't comprehend. His heartbeat increased, pounding inside his ears as his breathing took on a life of its own. He slapped a palm over his chest, but it did nothing to stop the tightness he felt there, like an anaconda squeezing the life out of him.

_Not again. Oh, God, not again._

A voice from somewhere in the distance melded into another, the faint trace of a conversation John could barely hear getting closer to his person until the door beside him flung open and someone was grabbing his body and forcing it to the side. His feet hit the pavement, but he remained seated, sure that he was going to die at any moment.

He could vaguely register his hands being placed in different positions, one on his chest, the other on his stomach. His face was cradled and the one touching him said something he didn't understand. When the message that he wasn't paying attention was received, the person put their forehead up against his, a familiar scent permeating his nostrils. Something about the aroma made him come back to himself, allowing him to finally see the man in front of him.

"John? John, look into my eyes. I want you to breathe in with your chest and out with your stomach."

_That voice. So strong. Comforting. So, so comforting. _

"S-Sherlock?" he rasped.

"Breathe with me, my Omega," Sherlock responded, holding the other boy's face in his long fingers. John breathed. "Good. Keep your eyes on me, John. Don't go. Stay with me."

John looked into his Alpha's eyes. He saw something there he couldn't quite place. Sure, there was that logical, emotionless rationality Sherlock flaunted, but there was something else beyond that, something John wished he could identify.

The Alpha in question, having realized he was probably showing something he desperately wanted to conceal, put a lid on whatever it was his Omega was observing and extinguished the fires of something remarkably akin to gentleness with one drop of icy liquid, leaving behind that familiar coldness John was becoming used to, much to the boy's chagrin.

"He's going to be fine," Sherlock said, addressing Mycroft. "Nothing more than a panic attack. By the looks of it, he's been having them for a while."

"Well, that's just fantastic, isn't it?" Mycroft hissed, annoyed. "God, the things I put up with for the sake of this family."

John ignored the man's disrespectful attitude and struggled to his feet, the fog in his head slowly fading away as he took in Jim's house in the distance. "So, this is Moriarty's house, yeah? Greg already inside?"

A look between the brothers was exchanged, leaving John with a sinking suspicion that Mycroft never told the younger Holmes about their intended destination. Their silent battle of wills was astoundingly childish to John, but he found himself unable to look away. Sherlock in particular seemed rather perturbed by John's reveal, though for what reason, he could not say. Why Mycroft would choose to keep something that seemed so trivial to John from his brother was a mystery he was keen on solving. Why did those bastards insist on keeping so many damned secrets? And what was it about those Holmes brothers that always had John questioning everything he knew about, well, everything? Damn Alphas.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock said, voice quiet and deadly. "May I speak with you alone for a moment?"

Mycroft shot John a threatening look. "I know this is all sudden right now, Sherlock, but do try to trust me when I tell you that I know what I'm doing."

"Really? Is John aware that you're bringing him into the home of a killer?"

John's head shot up, brows contorting in a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

"You have no idea what's going on here, brother mine."

"Then maybe you'd better tell me," Sherlock replied coldly, devoid of all emotion that wasn't covered in ice. "I knew you were up to something, Mycroft, but this? I need to know where the Omega is at all times. It's how I ensure his safety. Now that I do, you think I'm going to allow you to place my mate in the arms of _Moriarty_? John won't last a second in Jim's presence. He'll chew him up, spit him out, and then I'll have to kill him. I don't want blood on my hands, brother. It stains."

"Your . . . mate?" Mycroft inquired, curiosity and disgust battling for dominance within the depths of his intimidating face. "Is that how you plan to refer to him from now on? Oh, how touching."

"Alright, enough of this," John interrupted, trying not to roll his eyes at the nauseating stench of Alpha pride. "I've had just about all I can take from the both of you. First of all, how did you get here, Sherlock? You weren't in the limo."

"I followed you in a cab," Sherlock said, eyes on Mycroft.

John scoffed. "Ah, 'Course you did. Anyway, it doesn't matter. As fascinating as it is to stand here and watch you two clowns fight like babies over something I don't think I'll ever understand, and as much as I'd love to find out why it is I'm here exactly, the only thing I give a damn about right now is finding me mate. Now, are two going to come with me up this walkway here, or am I going it alone?"

John didn't know why he bothered waiting for an answer, but when it became apparent that they'd rather stare at each other than help the poor little Omega stranded in the middle of nowhere, he threw his hands up in exasperation and headed in the direction of the mansion in the distance without once looking back to see if the Alphas had decided to follow. When he'd reached the double doors, he knocked with all the strength he could muster and waited for an answer, trying his best to ignore the little tidbit of information relating this Moriarty to a cold-blooded killer.

When the barrier between John and the inside of the house was removed, it took him a moment to realize he was staring into the face of a boy who couldn't be any older than sixteen, with hair the color of chestnut, the bangs of which fell down one side of his face in loose strands that he pushed back with his well manicured hands. His glossy hazel eyes carried a hint of gold surrounding the pupils, oval shapes framed by long, thick eyelashes that fluttered from the caress of the cold Autumn air. He was of medium build, skinny, but strong, with small ripples of muscles that twitched from the boy's obvious agitation at being interrupted from whatever he was doing before John came to the door. His attire consisted of torn up blue jeans, light brown boots and a tight white t-shirt that accentuated every bit of lean muscle he possessed, leaving John to wonder if his clothing carried an immoral purpose.

"Can I help you?" he asked, voice much deeper than the Omega anticipated, and heavily dripping with distrust.

"Uh, y-yes. I'm, er, looking for a Jim Moriarty?"

The boy looked John up and down. "You Watson?"

John watched his semi full lips move. Was he chewing gum? "Yes, I am."

"Follow me," the other responded, leaving John to follow his lead.

John walked inside with trepidation, something about the boy rubbing him the wrong way. This entire scene reeked of something sinister, leaving him to wonder if he'd knowingly walked right into the lion's den. He felt no comfort from the fact that Sherlock was somewhere close by. Alphas were of no use to an Omega when they were in peril. They were of no use to anyone at all, really. Not unless you were an Omega in heat who needed their knot.

"So," John began, forcing very dangerous thoughts of Sherlock's knot on the back burner,"tell me about this Moriarty. He a good lad?"

The boy didn't respond. Interesting.

"Oi. I'm talkin' to you."

John's companion looked at him as if in a daze, a flicker of something unfamiliar invading his eyes. "You don't want me to answer that question."

Seriously? That was all he got? Everything about this situation was harrowing enough, but to get that kind of an answer to a question about the Alpha John would be staying with was going too far.

"I, uh . . . I think I do, actually."

The boy smirked. "Moriarty is a man who gets what he wants; no exceptions, no mercy. He's ruthless, predatory"-he paused to smile at John-"sexually aggressive."

Oh, dear God. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"But you don't got to worry about that last bit."

John gulped. "W-why not?"

"He only ever wants me."

John's mouth opened slightly in understanding. So, that's who this was? One of Moriarty's . . . playthings? Were they even in a relationship? Or was he some kind of male escort there to satisfy all of this Jim's disgusting fantasies? Only time would tell, he supposed.

John's guide took him up a very long spiral staircase to a room whose space consisted of rows upon rows of what looked like a library's worth of books lining the many shelves. Windows displayed the sky, black as the night John was in, without a star in sight as if to tell the hesitant Omega he was swimming in treacherous waters. The storm from earlier hadn't dissipated, but the lightning was gone, leaving behind an abyss of ebony that was staring directly into John's weary expression. The room definitely looked like a library, but bigger, with a shelf, followed by a space with a window, then another shelf, and on and on the pattern went, making John dizzy. It wasn't until he reached the end that he noticed a small door being opened by the boy, leading him to a smaller room with more books and a cozy fireplace. A small chair was placed strategically in front of it, holding the weight of someone John assumed was Moriarty.

"John Watson," the boy's voice rang out monotonously. "Jim Moriarty."

The man in the chair turned his head, almost in slow motion, until his eyes locked with John's, the lack of reaction on Moriarty's part making John nervous. The terror rushing through him clashed with his determination not to let an Alpha get under his skin, leaving him confused and cursing his biology with the spite of a serpent's hiss.

_Oh, God. He's getting up. Why is he getting up?_

Moriarty's gait was raptorial. Every step was littered with determination, the nature of it intimidating without even trying. He was a small man, yes, but not weak. There was no such thing as a weak Alpha. Everything about him, from his slicked back brown hair, to his brown eyes, to his well-tailored suit screamed class, but there was something off about his sophistication. His eyes held a bit of madness which mirrored in his contorted lips, a hint of crazy penetrating his form in a silent signal to John that said only one thing: _beware_.

He stared at John for a long time, neck twitching with derangement. The Omega held his ground, hiding his fear by hardening his face, body posture going on the defensive. Alpha or no Alpha, one thing was for sure: he wasn't gonna go down without a fight.

Except there wasn't one. Not the one John was expecting anyway. No, this one didn't involve physical violence. It was rather passive aggressive in nature, a rare thing for an Alpha, though Sherlock and his brother tended to fight that way. A silent battle was being waged in this room, challenged by Moriarty and accepted by John. The boy whose name John didn't know stood beside him. He could feel the kid's body tense, John's peripherals picking up on the slight tinge of weariness plaguing the poor Omega's features. Yes, the boy was definitely an Omega. John could sniff out his kind like nobody else. It was a shame that he allowed an Alpha to bully him in such a way. John and Greg really were alone with this Omegist thing, weren't they?

The thought of Greg was what finally made John speak up, taking a bit of pleasure in the fact that he was breaking the rules by speaking without an Alpha's permission. "Hello."

Moriarty's mouth twisted into a smirk. "John Watson. It's an honor to meet you."

His voice was so different from what John had imagined in his head. It was high-pitched, almost childlike. "Who's the Omega?"

The kid beside him started to breathe heavily, eyes lidded with what appeared to be unwanted desire. Moriarty's eyes didn't leave John's, though the mention of the boy caused a small flash of lust to grace his features. "Sebastian Moran. He's a special boy."

"Very attractive, too," John said, wincing slightly at the sudden jealousy that overtook the Alpha. Why was he so possessive of the Omega? A man like that couldn't love . . . could he?

The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted. Moriarty's smirk was gone, and John's Omega senses detected that danger was near. He could tell right away that his observation of the boy was a huge mistake. Complimenting an Omega was a tricky thing when done in the presence of their Alpha. John would never have done it had he known the man would react in such a way. So much for Omega intelligence.

John was bracing for a fight when the door burst open and in walked a very stern looking Sherlock, the sight of him doing something strange to John's insides. One whiff of Moriarty's scent, and John's Alpha narrowed his eyes, telling the man to back off without even opening up his mouth.

"Sherlock," Moriarty exclaimed gleefully, his sudden excitement making him sound even crazier. "Why, I haven't seen you in ages."

"Indeed you haven't," Sherlock said, looking around the room. "I see your tastes haven't changed."

"Bit of a traditionalist, I'm afraid. Father was just as drab."

Sherlock gave a tiny smirk. "Which one?"

At the sight of Moriarty's evil glare, John realized something significant was going on here, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. It was clear the two Alphas knew each other, but to what extent? What was it about this whole thing that put John on edge?

"Where's Mycroft?" Jim asked, distracting John from his worries.

Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose. Walking around the room, he ran his exceptionally long fingers over the stack of books on the table, settling on one and flicking through the pages. "He went to go look for Gregory. Bit of history between them, it seems. I'm 100% sure they're supposed to be mated, though Mycroft would rather die than admit it to me."

John whipped his head to stare at Sherlock, horrified. Sherlock looked back, rolling his eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. I thought you were smarter than that."

Smarter. Seems John wasn't as observant as he'd originally thought. Everything that's happened to him so far has made him question everything he'd previously thought about himself. He thought he was strong, yet Moriarty had managed to intimidate him. He thought himself intelligent enough to observe the intentions of others, yet he hadn't noticed anything even remotely off about Mycroft's apparent relationship with his best mate. How in the hell did Greg keep a secret that big from him anyhow? Were the bonds of friendship not as tight as they once were? Was Greg pulling away from John? And just why in the hell was he here anyway?

All these things were floating around in John's head, driving him mad with intrigue. So mad, in fact, that he somehow found himself disappearing from the room he'd originally inhabited to go off in search of Sherlock's brother, leaving a very different pair of Alphas doing the same bullshit display of power as the ones outside not even a half hour ago. Despite the size of the mansion, John quickly found what he was looking for, determination coursing through his veins at the sound of hushed voices just on the other side of the corridor.

Creeping up on his best friend and Mycroft Holmes was a lot harder than John could have ever imagined, yet he somehow managed to make it work. What he hadn't counted on, though, was the extent to which the conversation he was about to bear witness to would affect him, both physically and mentally. Apparently, the exhaustion that comes with an arranged marriage, a mentally abusive father, and a shared habitat with a deranged psychopath is nothing compared to the shock and devastation of finding out the bloke you've known since you were a child had killed your pedophilic uncle. Who knew, right? Ah, the joys of being John Watson.

"What more do you want from me, Mycroft?" Greg was whispering, folding his arms across his chest defensively. The anger and hurt on his face wasn't exactly subtle, making John wonder what it was that could have caused such a distressed look to plague his friend's features. "First that shit happened at dinner, then you come into my home and threaten my parents into bringing me here, and now this?"

"I allowed them to come along, didn't I?" Mycroft responded, sounding as casual as ever. _Bas__tard. _"I try to accommodate you in every possible way, yet you continually dismiss my efforts. It is I that should be asking you such a question."

"Really? You had someone hold my folks at gunpoint, Mycroft! You know, all I wanted was your help in getting me on the right path to pursue my career. I never thought that a simple visit to your house would result in my murdering Pontius Watson or being forced to reallocate myself and my parents to the home of a fucking nutcase! Mum is terrified of him, and so am I."

Mycroft's eyes became hard. "I'd never allow him to hurt you."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you."

"Gregory, I may have asked you to do something you didn't want or understand, but believe me when I say I have the best of intentions with regard to you and your family. No harm will come to any of you. Now, you asked me to give you what you wanted and that's exactly what I did. All I asked in return was that you responded in kind."

"If you've done what I asked then why haven't you gotten me into ABO yet?"

Mycroft smiled. "I have."

John frowned. ABO University was a school that allowed students of any dynamic to attend, be it Alpha, Omega, or Beta. Coincidentally, they had the best classes in criminology, psychology, and sociology, leading to the brightest and the most ambitious of students leaving school to become the best detectives in the country. Greg's father, Monty, had graduated from that school, and was one of the most revered-and retired-detective inspectors to ever grace London. He saw things, not in the same way Sherlock did, but close enough that everybody respected him almost to the same extent they obviously respected John's infuriating Alpha, who'd made a name for himself with the help of his brilliant mind and brilliant sibling. Not that John had done his research on the other boy or anything. That, of course, would have implied that he cared.

The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place, and Greg's motivations and relations to Mycroft became more and more clear with each passing moment, much to John's dismay. Greg came to Mycroft's house for help, knowing that his parents had mysteriously lost everything, and that Mycroft's reputation would ensure that he got what he wanted. Mycroft responds by telling Greg that he'll get him into ABO and help him achieve his goal of following in his father's footsteps, but only for a price: killing Pontius Watson. Why Greg would accept, John wasn't sure, but he knew there was no way in hell Greg would go that far just to become Inspector. Mycroft must have told him about John and Pontius. But how did he know? John had never told anyone about that. Sure, his parents knew, but they were much too embarrassed and worried about the stain a pedophile would leave on the family name to admit the damage he'd inflicted on their only son to anyone. So, once again, how did he know? It just didn't make any sense.

Then the whole bit about Mycrot holding Greg's parents at gunpoint and forcing them to move both themselves and their son to Moriarty's for . . . protection? Mycroft had said something about how Greg needed protecting and this was the only way it could be done. But who would Greg need to be protected from? Why would he need John's help? If this was all about his friend, then how did John get mixed up in this mess? Did Sherlock know anything about his brother's intentions? Was he even the least bit suspicious that his brother kept more secrets than a pregnant schoolgirl?

"You did?" Greg gasped, eyes lighting up.

"I may withhold information from you, Gregory, but I have never lied to you, and I don't intend to start now. I've enrolled not only yourself, but John as well. You're going to need your friend around to watch your back. Things can get pretty gnarly with the other Alphas in that place. The last thing I need is for something to happen to you, Omega. The injury of any one of us will set off a chain reaction nobody wants, I can assure you. Now, have we finished here?"

Greg couldn't keep the smile off his face. "For now. But don't think this is gaining you any brownie points."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Mycroft replied dryly.

John turned and headed off, to where, he didn't know. His head was swarming with even more questions now than when he'd first entered Moriarty's humble abode. While Greg's story was starting to come into play, his own remained a huge mystery, one with enough twists and turns to keep him guessing until the bitter end.

Mycroft was one hell of a secretive man, but John was patient. While he may have been able to keep so much inside of him for so long, it was only a matter of time before the now angry Omega discovered every single one of Mycroft's guilty secrets. He makes his friend commit murder, drags him and John into a mess they don't understand and manipulates them on every turn. After what he'd just heard with Mycroft and Greg, John was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of Pontius' death. While John didn't hate to see the man go, Pontius was obviously involved in something that could have possibly implicated Mycroft, leading the man to have him murdered. But why make Greg do it? What role did John have in this? Could it have something to do with the strange phone call Ichabod received about John? Were John, Greg, and possibly Sherlock the only ones in the dark here?

It seemed there were many mysterious surrounding the lives of the Watsons and the Holmes', and one way or another, John was going to find them out, and when he did, he would make sure to burn the entire foundation of their families to the ground.

He just hoped he didn't destroy himself in the process.


End file.
